


Timetravel: Do Not Recommend (0/10 Junkrats Would do it Again)

by Memequeen_Luvs_Chocolate



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fighting, I'm so sorry, The World Will Never Know, a shitton of swearing tho, and canon-divergent too, cuz i don't know a lot about overwatch, everyone in this needs to be saved, have fun kids, i p much just assumed everything i didn't know, is this even serious, it gets interesting in the second one, keep timetravel 999999999 feet away from junkrat, the first chapter is seriously boring, there's violence but it prob wont be graphic, this is probably insanely ooc, timetravel, tracer doesn't show up till later, what is this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7364191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memequeen_Luvs_Chocolate/pseuds/Memequeen_Luvs_Chocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timetravel.</p>
<p>What is it good for?</p>
<p>Absolutely nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm actually posting this. Ok so fair warning this is gonna be unbelievably OOC and canon-divergent (probably) and I'm sorry. Also I tried to write Junkrat's dialogue with his accent, it's prob shit but there was an attempt ok. Basically sorry in advance for the shit I got wrong and I hope you can enjoy the story anyways.

Junkrat is lost.  
  
However, Junkrat is not lost in the sense that he doesn't know _where_  he is— _actually he hasn't moved an inch since coming to the realization he was lost_.  
  
No, Junkrat is lost in the sense that he doesn't know _when_  he is because somehow, someway, Junkrat managed to travel through time.  
  
One minute he's standing in a toolshed working on a type of bomb he'd invented, and the next he's standing outside in the dead of night surrounded by desert of all things, his only indication that he's still indeed on planet earth being the thick strip of asphalt— _what a goddamn joke_  —under his feet.  
  
At first he'd actually thought he _had_  been transported somewhere, having been unknowingly teleported or transported by whoever for whatever reason.  
  
Then he remembered that asphalt hasn't been used in the construction of anything for over 40 years.  
  
So, after ruling out every other option he could think of, Junkrat concluded that, no matter how ridiculous it might've sounded, he was indeed sometime in the past.  
  
That's right, not only had he managed to somehow _travel through time_ ,  but he had absolutely _no idea_  as to how he'd done it.  
Which means he not _only_  doesn't know how to get back, but he doesn't even have a starting point for figuring it out.  
  
Which means he's indefinitely trapped somewhere the past.  
  
_Well ain't that just fuckin' fantastic_.  
  
Having recovered from the initial shock of being _transported through time_ , he lets out a very loud groan full of anger, confusion, and resentment, stomping his foot against the asphalt for emphasis on just how incredibly _peeved_  he is.  
Though truthfully, more than anything, Junkrat is _scared_.  
He's stuck in another time with no clue as to how he got there. And worse, no clue as to how to get back. At least if he'd only been transported he could still get home, even if it took a while.  
But this way, he's an unthinkable distance from home and he hasn't even moved an inch. It _terrifies_  him.  
  
_He hates it_.  
  
"Aw c'mon pull yerself togethr' mate! Don't ya dare go turnin' into a pissbaby!"  
A verbal reprimanding to himself, his voice cutting through the silence of the night that he hadn't realized was so suffocating until he broke it, grumbling angrily in an attempt to snuff out the last of his fear.  
  
"C'mon I-I mean, th-this ain't nothin' compared t' the shit you've been through...practically child's play eh? Y-Yeah..! Don't be silly, this, this is like ABC's...ain't nothin t' be afraid of..."  
  
It doesn't work.  
  
"Ok, ok deep breaths, les' just, les' just think about what t' do here...h mm...m-maybe I can get th' time somehow...gotta be a clock somewhere on me right..?"  
He starts scrambling through anything on him that vaguely resembles a pocket in search of any sort of watch, clock, pocket watch, anything that could give him a way of knowing the time.  
  
Aaaand...nothing.  
  
"...Aright new plan. Power up m' tech, maybe there's some sorta widget or smthn thas' got a clock...thas' feasible right?"  
However, after flipping switches, pressing buttons, turning gears, moving pieces, and a number of other things, Junkrat finds that (1 none of his weapons or tech will come online, (2 he left his bomb halter in the future, and (3 they probably wouldn't have worked anyway because none of his explosives will detonate.  
And once again, Junkrat is faced with an awful realization.  
  
Absolutely none of his gear works.  
  
Now, Junkrat is not in the least bit religious, never has been.  
And yet, he finds his outraged gaze turned up to the star-spangled night sky, calling out angrily to a man in the heavens he doesn't even believe exists.  
  
"Aw _come ON!!_ Ya couldn't 've _AT LEAST_  left me with m' gear?! What the bloody hell?!"  
  
After quite literally throwing a full-on temper tantrum complete with yelling at nothing, yelling at god, groaning, kicking the ground, punching the air and throwing some rocks on the roadside as far as he could, Junkrat _finally_  managed to disperse the majority of his fury.  
Now hunched over, he took deep breaths to calm down, remaining hand gripping his remaining knee (at least his prosthetics still work as prosthetics) so roughly his knuckles were on the verge of turning white, eyes fixated on the black strip of asphalt.  
  
_Goddammit_. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, also stuck in the middle of no _when_ , no signs of civilization, hell he doesn't even know how he'd even go about finding other humans.  
  
"Well, look's like is' just you n' me road."  
  
...  
  
...  
  
_Wait a minute—_  
  
Roads are man-made, made by _people_... roads are made to lead people to _other_ people, roads lead to people...  
_Roads lead to people_.  
  
His lips split into possibly the most absurdly-ecstatic grin in history, entire form electrified with newfound excitement as he jumps into the air, punching his fist upwards while doing so.  
  
"WHOO!! I'm saved 'm _saved!!_ "  
  
He cheers a little more, twisting around like a kid and punching the air some more, all while laughing loudly before settling himself down.  
  
And with a bounce in his step and a tune to whistle, Junkrat contently shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking alongside the highway, following the stretch of asphalt extending into the horizon. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it was in this chapter that Junkrat realized (numerous times), he'd fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this up days ago I'm so so sorry. And wow this chapter is so much longer than the first like damn (and hopefully more interesting too).  
> Anyone who can list all the references gets virtual candy.

By the time Junkrat _finally_ reaches the nearest town, it's daybreak, and though the sun just barely beginning to peek over the horizon is supposed indicate the starting of the day, all he wants to do is _sleep_.

He's not sure how long he's been walking, can't tell if it's been one hour or six since the beginning of his little journey, but either way he's positively drained.

Fortunately, his nonstop journeying paid off, for when the sun's rays begin rolling over the vast expanse of land, they illuminate a cluster of rooftops which are comfortably nestled together, fronted by what's probably a welcome sign, right up ahead.

As tired as he is, Junkrat still manages a thankful grin.

A town. A town means people. People means food. And water. And rest. Civilization. He's saved.  
_Hallelujah_.

Finding the energy to carry himself the remaining distance he needs to go, Junkrat slowly trudges on, the grin never leaving his features before stopping directly in front of a giant stone sign resting just outside the first row of houses, glancing a little further he can see a row of shops, probably a town square. The sign dons a welcome message neatly carved into the rock, except for the town name however, which was rather crudely painted on.

"'W-Welcome to... _nowheresville usa_?? Th' fuck kinda name is _'nowheresville usa'_?? Th' hell even _is_ an ‘usa’? Wht’ kinda game ar' these people playin' here eh??"

His eyes narrow into slits, gaze sharpening into a glare that’s fixated on the _‘welcome’_  sign, almost expecting it to come to life right in front of him.  
He’s decided he really doesn’t like the sign. If only his damn explosives worked, he could blow that fucker sky-high and threaten to blow up the rest of the town if they don’t give him what he wants, then do it anyway.

But as beautiful as that would be, his explosives don’t work, which means he’s gonna have to act civil if he wants to get anything.

He _hates_  acting civil.

Truthfully, Junkrat has half the mind to march right on past this _'nowheresville usa'_ and find the next town over. There's something odd— _almost suspicious_  —about this sleepy little town, and he's got a gut feeling that it runs far deeper than the ridiculous name.

However, the aching and fatigue in his, well, _everything_ and the audible grumbling of his stomach remind him that he could very well not make it to the next town over, and that shrugging off a very real way to save himself on a very unreal suspicion in the back of his mind was possibly the stupidest decision he could make.

So he shoves his gut feeling to the side, burying it away before camouflaging any gear he can't hide on his person in a cluster of dried-up bushes by the sign, and walking into town.

It’s barely sun-up, he himself still getting used to the stunning rays of light sweeping in between the walls of buildings, so he hardly finds the lack of people outside surprising. Truthfully it was probably better this way, he hadn’t looked in a mirror in at least 24 hours and though Junkrat really couldn’t give less of a damn about his appearance at any given moment, the last thing he wanted was to get chased out of town because he undoubtedly looked like a complete wreck.  
Never before has he been so thankful to actually be wearing a shirt.

The surrounding world is dead silent save for the alternating thud of his boot and his prosthetic leg against the road, good hand tucked away in his pants pocket while the prosthetic one hung at his side, eyes sweeping the few houses on either side of the now dirt path he trudged along. There’s no sound coming from inside any of the little homes, however he could’ve sworn he’d just caught a glimpse of someone watching him through a second-story window, that is before the flowery curtain on said window was yanked shut.

_Yeesh. What a welcome._

Momentarily ignoring his initial distaste for the town’s residents so far, Junkrat diverts his attention to the first row of shops in what he assumes is the town square. From a first glance, nothing appears to be open, in fact some even look abandoned, and he’s ready to keep on walking when out of the corner of his eye he just manages to catch sight of a neon sign illuminating a window, causing his entire body to unconsciously gravitate in the direction of the light source, which just so happens to be a 24-hour diner.

_Perfect!_  He’ll run in, get enough to survive, and get out. It’s early too, so there's not gonna be a lot of people. He won even have to draw attention to himself!

A cluster of brass bells dangling from a string above the doorframe alerts the five customers inside of Junkrat’s entrance, not that any of them had bothered to glance up at him in the first place. Eyes dart around the interior of the little restaurant, observing everything he can while making his way over to the main counter at the far end. It's a nice place, albeit unusually small for a diner, very bright and colorful, _lots_  of neon lights which he’s very much not a fan of, but still he decides it's not the worst joint he could've walked into.

_**Man, Roadhog would've loved this—** _ _and he's not gonna finish that thought because he doesn't feel like suppressing the urge to cry for the rest of the day._

A few people have started to take notice of his arrival, turning their fazes away from their food or newspaper to glance up at him, likely having expected a neighbor or someone similar.

Instead they see him, a dirty, scar-covered, bruised, burnt man who'd only _(technically)_ turned 25 a month ago, but thanks to his life experiences has aged years beyond that.

He's not surprised by their reactions really, after all he's gotten much worse, some widen their eyes in horror before immediately turning their attention back to something more tasteful, others glare briefly in disgust before also looking away, some just stare— _he offers those guys a downright murderous glare which is more than enough to scare them off_  —and others simply pretend not to notice.

Ignoring— _for the most part_  —the townspeople's less-than-welcoming reactions, Junkrat makes his way over to the main counter and takes a seat on the cushioned barstool, somehow managing to remain completely silent while doing so. Actually, he realizes the entire restaurant has grown quiet since his arrival, the only registrable noise being a near-unbearable clash of noise— that takes him a full minute to realize is actually a revolting excuse for a _song_  —playing softly in the background.

Slightly cringing at the ‘song’ drifting through the environment, Junkrat continues to glance around at his surroundings, this time observing what's behind the counter. Generic restaurant stuff for...whatever time period he’s in— _he assumes_  —, some dishes, menus, silverware, and a few miscellaneous restaurant items he doesn't bother identifying.  
A glance down at the actual counter he’s leaning on, and Junkrat realizes it’s made of white marble. Eyes widen just slightly in surprise, rather fancy for the middle of nowhere, isn't it? There's a fork and a knife held together with a cloth red-and-white checkerboard napkin and a glass on a red placemat before him, a bunch of tiny vases with a single yellow flower in each lining the inward-facing ends of the counter all up it’s length, and— _a newspaper!_

A sudden smile, and he makes a swift grab for the paper that's so rapid and and blunt in comparison to the silent and closed-off demeanor he’d carried walking into the diner that the sound of the paper fluttering in the air actually causes a few people to glance up in curiosity, before immediately reverting to their prior actions once again upon realizing the cause of the sound.  
Junkrat decides to ignore that too.

Laying the paper out before him, Junkrat opens it up so the front page is completely sprawled before him, fingers moving to serve as guidelines as he searches for a date on the paper— _there it is!_

June 6th— _**1987?! What the hell?!**_

And suddenly he finds himself standing up, staring down at the paper in shock.

And everyone in the restaurant is staring at him.

And that's when Junkrat realized _he’d spoken out loud_.

_**Shit.** _

An embarrassingly sheepish smile— _so much for keeping a low profile_ —before slowly sitting back down again, gluing his eyes to the newspaper and pretending he hadn't just publically flipped out over reading the current year.

Fortunately, after half a minute of waiting and realizing the strange man wasn't about to do anything else, the townspeople finally returned to their prior activities, once again not paying any mind to him.  
Except for a single man who this entire time, rather than watching him with surprise or disgust or even fear like the others, had been observing Junkrat with interest and curiosity, and after his little outburst, had decided that now was a perfect time to finally approach this strange man.

Pushing himself up from the booth he'd been sitting in, the man sauntered over to where Junkrat was seated, sliding onto the barstool to his left. The man doesn't say anything at first, opting to do a bunch of random actions, likely with the intention to mask the ever-frequent glances he continuously cast in Junkrat's direction.

Junkrat almost laughed. This guy actually thought he was being _subtle_.

After continuing his _'subtle'_  observations for a few minutes longer, the man then decides to actually turn and face Junkrat and— _much to his disappointment_  —strike up a conversation.

"Hmm, anything on the menu look good to you?"

Junkrat raises an eyebrow at the man who's sitting patiently with a calm yet curious expression, actually expecting an answer.  
Frankly he'd really prefer to just ignore this guy completely, or better yet tell him to fuck off. Unfortunately, thanks to his little _presentation_ a few minutes ago, these guys already think he's weird. Convincing them he's rude as well definitely won't be getting him any favors. Besides it's just one question, not gonna hurt him right?

He lets out a low grunt, followed a quiet cough to clear his throat, and Junkrat turns his head in the direction of the other, expression still mostly composed of a repelling glare, but now with a bit of curiosity laced in.

"Mm, 'havnt had th' chance t' look yet act'ly..."

"Hm really. I personally love the pancakes and bacon slices, simply _delicious_."

Unsure how else to respond to an attitude as perky as this, Junkrat simply nodded his head nonchalantly before turning his gaze back to the newspaper. He'd answered his question, hopefully that meant he'd leave him—

"Can't say I've seen ya around before, new in town?"

Junkrat had realized his mistake much too late. He hadn't saved his social image by answering the man, he'd double-knotted it to the train tracks of social standing and left it to be run over by the judgement train. By answering the first question he'd indirectly told the man he was willing to socialize and therefore had given him permission to ask _more questions_.

Junkrat wanted to drop dead.

"Guess y' cn' say that, yea..."

"Ah an out-of-towner! We don't get those too often 'round here, one of the _perks_ of being located in the middle of nowhere, right?"  
The man lets out a light chuckle, and Junkrat forces out an awkward laugh in response. This guy's fluctuating southern accent was really beginning to tick him off— _seriously do ya got th' accnt or nah make up yer mind!_  
So was his lack of knowledge concerning what else this guy was planning to ask about. Hopefully nothing personal, Junkrat really wasn't up for answering stuff concerning him—

"So, what might your name be newby?"

_Of fucking course._

Well shit. How the hell is he supposed to answer _that_? _'Junkrat'_ isn't exactly a common name, if anything it sounds like a gang title, and that's not exactly a good impression to give off either.  
He supposes he could just Jamison Fawkes, but that's still risky, he knows there's at least one other Jamison in past generations, and sure the likelihood that he lived in this year, _let alone this town_ , was unbelievably low, but he doesn't wanna risk it.  
A quick sweep of his surroundings once again in a now-frantic search for anything that could work as a name— his attention is captured by a woman seated near the door with the thickest, _frizziest_  red hair he's ever _seen_ —

"Fritz,"

_Wait what—_

...Ok sweeping the area _clearly_ didn't work, how about he think of a name himself?

_Ok ok think think **think** wha's a good, norml' name ye' cn' tell this bloke—_

"Smith."

_**Oh for the love of god—** _

Fritz Smith. _Fritz Smith._  He had _not_ just said that was his name. There's no way he actually did that. Nope. None. Not possib—

"... _Fritz Smith_? Well, that's a rather, _unusual_ name, but who am I to judge another by his name. Welcome to our little town, Mr. Smith!"

Junkrat wanted to curl up under one of the restaurant tables and die.

"My name's Wilson Golie, and I'm the mayor of this town. Wonderful to meet you!"  
The mayor extended his hand to shake, and without waiting for a reaction, _grabbed_  Junkrat's good hand which was resting on the counter, so suddenly and shook it so firmly that he nearly pulling him right off the chair while doing so.

It's at this moment that the doors to the restaurant kitchen swing open, a lady in an aqua-blue dress with a white apron overtop, chestnut brown hair pined atop her head in a bun, and a smile so blinding it should be legally classified as a weapon steps into the dining area, making a direct beeline for where the man and Junkrat were seated, leaning against the other side of the counter. Instinctively, Junkrat leans away at first, but, leans back in just slightly because, _wow_ there's something **very** familiar about this girl...he can't quite put his finger on it though...

"Well hey there Mr. Goldie! Fancy seein' you here, and so early too!"

_Mr. Goldie_  in response smiles kindly, chuckling at the female's quip. Junkrat falls back into an observant silence, thankful that the man's attention is now off of him, but also rather curious to watch the two's interaction.

"Why thank ya Margaret, and yeah, usually not up this early, but I suppose I felt like watchin' the sunrise, yknow?"

Personally, Junkrat thinks that answer sounds like complete bullshit, but the girl seems to be eating it up, her smile just slightly widening— _if that was even possible_  —and letting out the briefest delighted hum before shifting slightly and— _oh god please no she was turning to face him_.

"N' who might this be? Can't say I've seen a face like yours 'round our lil' town before~"

For the first time since meeting this man, Junkrat is _so grateful_  for his inability to let people speak for themselves, causing him to answer instead of Junkrat having to.

"This is Mr. Fritz Smith, he ain't from around here. Mr. Smith, this is Margaret, Margaret, Mr. Smith."  
Junkrat offers a brief grunt of recognition that had been intended as a hum, and waves his good hand just slightly. Margaret flashes her smile in his direction— _apparently it wasn't enough to be partially blinded, nope, gotta take out his vision completely_ —, sticking her hand out and _also_  grabbing his to shake and _holy hell she's got an absolute deathgrip she's crushing his hand ok it's ok this is fine breathe just breath—_

"Well _howdy_  Mr. Smith! Such a _delight_  t' meetcha!!"

She finally stops crushing his hand and Junkrat has to force himself not to wheeze in relief, before standing up straight and pulling out a notepad, now facing both of them.

"Well, 'm sure both of ya are just starvin', so why don't I take your orders?"

Mr. Goldie goes first, deciding on— _surprise_ _surprise_ —the pancakes and bacon. Junkrat on the other hand simply provides a dismissive _'ll_ _hav_ _what'er_ _he's_ _gettin_ ' with plenty of ice water on the side, preferring to keep any unnecessary conversation with the two to an absolute minimum. Margaret jots it all down with an unbelievable amount of enthusiasm just from doing _waitress_   _work_ , before striding off to the kitchen once again, a bounce in her step as she disappears behind the white kitchen doors once again.

Junkrat's decided he doesn't like these two, not even a little. They're not only suffocatingly enthusiastic about _absolutely everything_ , but also way too interested in him. They seem like the nosy type, and you can _never_ trust those.

But then again, if this guy _is_  the mayor, he's certainly someone Junkrat would prefer having as an ally, rather than an enemy.

"Nice t' meetcha mr. mayor, ye' gotta cute lil' town here eh? 'Noweresville usa', heh, ain't seen tha' one elsewere."  
This time the chuckle is genuine, at least moreso that the ones before it, managing to find the stupidity of the town name entertaining despite his prior distaste for it. Rather than laughing along with him however, the mayor's perky expression has contorted into one of confusion, the man now gazing at him with uncertainty.

"... _'Nowheresville usa'??_ I'm-I'm sorry Mr. Smith but, I can't say I know what you're talkin' about."

"Yea 'Nowheresville usa', name of th' town?"

" _What??_  I'm not sure where you heard that, but 'Nowheresville usa' is _not_  the town name."

"Well 'ts whas' paintd' on th' sign! Kinda misleadn', havin' th' town name as somethn' diffrnt' from th' sign yknow~"

The mayor looks positively horrified, eyes wide with shock and confusion, gaping at Junkrat, unable to understand what he could _possibly_  be referring to, before his feature suddenly dawn with realization.  
"I-I'm—... _Wait_ , you said it was _painted_  on the sign?"

"Yup, 'n th' ugliest shade a' yello' 've evr' seen."

The mayor sighs in dread, brining a hand up to rub his forehead, letting his eyes slip shut for a mere moment.

"Ah lord, sounds like Marty and his friends are pulling shit again. Ysee they like to spraypaint on the sign, we usually don't find out for a while cause, well, like I said we don't get many visitors.! I'll have to tell Loraine to keep a leash on her son... Gee Mr. Smith, I'm sorry ya got such a nasty first impression of our little town here, welcome to Hill Valley."

Hill Valley, it's a much nicer name than Nowheresville usa, that's for sure. Makes more sense too. Junkrat offers a partial smile in return, not quite genuine but not forced either.

"'S arigh', y'know how kids ar'."

The mayor sighs again, displaying an apologetic smile and placing his hands in his lap. In Junkrat's opinion the guy seems way too stressed that some teenagers pulled a prank, but before he can begin to even think of a comment, the mayor has already started talking again.

"Still, I feel awful bad, knowin' the first thing you saw was the work of some dirty teenagers, I do wish I could make it up to ya..."

Even if he'd wanted to say something, Junkrat doesn't get the chance to because just then Margaret reemerges from the kitchen doors, carrying two plates each holding two _very large_ pancakes and three strips of bacon on the side, and laying them out before both of them, before quickly bending down too extract two glasses from the counter cabinet, placing them in front of Junkrat and filling them to the brim with ice water. She flashes that smile again, letting a brief _'enjoy!!~'_  drift from her lips to their ears, before hurrying off to tend to the other customers. Junkrat's eyes practically doubled in size and he had to stop himself from audibly whistling, _that was **fast**_.  
The truly godsent span of silence continues as the Mr. Goldie decides he'd rather eat then talk, immediately digging into his food.

Junkrat glances down at the plate, slowly picking the fork and knife free of their cloth prison, cautiously cutting a little piece of the pancake and popping it into his mouth and _holy fuck this is really really good want more right now_.  
And, throwing manners and impressions to the wind, Junkrat practically inhales the food on his plate, eating faster than he can ever remember doing in his life, only breaking in between bites for air. The mayor, while not consuming his pancakes nearly as fast, is still clearly enjoying them just as much.  
Both of their plates are emptied in what feels like a heartbeat, and for a moment Junkrat can't even bring himself to _care_  that his incredibly-fast eating pace has shortened how long the lack of conversation stretches on for because _it was so good_.  
He's much slower drinking the water, now able to remember that he wants to keep the beautiful silence running as long as he can.

Unfortunately it would seem all good things really do come to an end, as his food and water are finished, and there is no longer a reason for either of them to stay silent, at least not in the mayor's opinion.

"Is there anything I can do to make it up? I feel bad, I really do..."

Frankly, Junkrat has no clue how to respond to that, there's plenty this guy _could_ do, such as give him a place to stay considering there isn't exactly anywhere he can go until he figures out he managed to get stuck almost a century in the past, but he can't exactly ask for something of that magnitude, can he?

Once again, Margaret interrupts their one-sided discussion, this time laying out two checks that are identical down to the hand-written _'have a nice day!! : )'_ in the corner before both of them, picking up their plates and setting them down in a brown basin against the wall.  
Mr. Goldie immediately extracts a currency Junkrat's never seen before, a green piece of paper with lots of writing on it and a silver coin, signing his name on the check and handing it and the money to Margaret.  
Junkrat reads the price over, and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small handful of credits and dumping them onto the table. He's not sure how many credits equal whatever amount that paper and coin were, so hopefully that's enough.

...They're not saying anything.

In fact, they're staring, silently, in confusion.

...

_**OH FOR FUCKS SAKE—** _

_Again_ , Junkrat has realized his mistake much too late, _of course credits aren't a damn form of currency in the past they weren't even invented 'till the 2050's!!_  Shit shit _shit_ what the hell does he do _what the hell does he do—_

...

_He lies._

His expression contorts into one of surprise and confusion, closely matching the other's as he makes an audible sound of misunderstanding.

"What th', th' hell did all ma' money go?! I swear I—"

And now it's an expression of realization, which quickly fades into anger and frustration.

"Ah _goddamnit_ , I knew tha' bloke couldn' b' trustd', a' knew it!!"

Clearly it's working, as both Wilson and Margret look confused and worried, Wilsong moving to lean forward with his eyebrows narrowed in concern.

"Mr. Smith? W-Who couldn't be trusted?"

"Ths' guy a' met, _reeel_  shady fella', gettn' too close n' always 'ad smthn' up 'is sleeve. Musta' grabbd' ma' money n' slipped me _those_!"

Margaret gasps, covering her mouth briefly and shaking her head in disgust, while Wilson grumbles angrily. Junkrat smiles internally, they ate up every word.

"Why that's just _awful_  Mr. Smith, I'm truly sorry you were unfortunate enough to run into such a horrible man! Margaret, I got his bill-"

Mr. Goldie moves to grab another green paper, but Margaret firmly shakes her head, gesturing it away.

"Nah' Wilson this one's 'n me, ya poor thing, how're ya gonna get home??"

Junkrat shakes his head, face falling into a disposition of disappointed uncertainty.

"'M, cn't say a' kno', m' reel far from m' home, dunno how long 's gonna take t' get back, n' wthout' money, well, 'dunno 'f th' folks 'n th' town over're gonna b' as kind as ya..."

Margaret shakes her head in dismay, and Wilson's brown furrows in thought. Suddenly however, his entire posture lights up, a smile forming on his lips.

"Hey, I know! To make up for the sign mishap, how's about I letcha stay in our here town for a bit? I'll give ya a tour, set ya up in a spot, getcha a job, help ya back onto your feet. How's that sound?"

Margaret's face also lights up at the idea, clapping her hands, and _blinding_ them once again with her teeth.

"Oh Mr. Goldie that's _so_  kind of ya, wadya think Mr. Smith??"

Junkrat outwardly displays a kind and thankful smile, but on the inside his shark-like grin is much more knifing and mischievous.

"'A think t's a _wonderful_  idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three quick things. First is that Junkrat is prononuncing the 'usa' in 'nowheresville usa' as a word and not U-S-A. Second is that I actually was gonna put the town tour in this chapter, but then it got long so I left it for the next. Third is yes I know there is regular money in the future but yknow were just gonna ignore canon for a bit and pretend the international currency is credits ok? Ok.  
> And also, huge thank you to everyone who left nice comments/is actually enjoying this. I still don't know if this is a crackfic or supposed to be serious but hell I enjoy writing it and (I think) you enjoy reading it so I'm gonna keep on writing it. Thank you again, and see ya next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat gets a tour of Hill Valley and in the process learns that he hates spiders, specifically of the robotic kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have an excuse for posting this FIVE FRIKIN MONTHS after the second chapter. I literally just suck as a human being. I am so so sorry. But on the bright side _I'm not abandoning this story!_ I am legit just a human sloth and take too long to do absolutely anything, but I am not leaving this story high and dry! I promise. At long last, enjoy the third chapter!

They exit the restaurant when the big hand on the wall clock is pointing at the number nine, the mayor bidding goodbye to Margaret and the other customers inside who all respond with brief farewell messages of their own, before starting off down the path leading inwards to the town center. In contrast to the dim light that had only barely begun to envelop the land when Junkrat had first entered the town, the sun has now had time to come out of hiding, pouring down light that's _almost_  as blinding as Margaret's smile and raising the temperature to numbers that would make a _certain climatologist_  he knew shed tears.

There's a whole lot more people now too, numerous citizens now populating the main road, completely contrasting the isolated streets he'd ventured down earlier that morning. It's rather surreal in his mind, how the seemingly-abandoned town he'd entered earlier that day had seemed to just about rise from the dead.

Junkrat's initial disposition might remain unchanged as he absorbs his transformed surroundings, but the wonder in his gaze is still visible, clearly indicating he is indeed in awe with the town's changes. The mayor on the other hand appears completely unfazed, a content but average smile on his face as he greets the townsfolk who reply positively, momentarily halting their actions to wave and voice a greeting. Junkrat however they do not greet with such a shining disposition, the smiles dropping once the mayor is no longer surveying their direction and glancing away much too quickly to be coincidental, and Junkrat decides to _ignore_  the sharp and threatening glares he's not supposed to pick up on.

"So, wadya think of the town so far?"

The mayor calls back to Junrkat over his shoulder, despite only walking about a foot ahead of him, and Junkrat takes a brief moment to judge whether or not he should find the action condescending. But hey, this guy did offer him a place to stay, so he might as well appease him that much, right?

"'S very nice, likin' it' lots!"

Judging by the way the mayor's face seems to just-barely light up at his response, Junrkat knows that was a good answer, and offers a grin. The two trudge on briefly, Junkrat observing little rows of shops that all manage to appear strikingly similar yet different at the same time, before the mayor halts in front of s building that's slightly larger than all the others, but only a little bit.

"This here's our town hall, and where my office is at. Rather _glamorous_ , ain't she?"

Well, glamorous was _a bit_  of stretch. The structure was truly in a rather crude condition, with the roof tiles visibly falling away and missing in huge sections while the faded white paint which coated the outside chipped and peeled away to reveal the partially-decomposing wooden boards beneath. Clearly the building hadn't had any proper maintenance or repairs in at least a decade, hell, it looked just about ready collapse the second it was _touched_ , let alone still usable as a _town hall_.

Junkrat sucks in a quick breath, pushing back the desire to _laugh_  at the mayor's god-awful analogy of his city center, and instead channels his amusement into an polite smile before nodding in agreement.

"'Ndeed! A real lookah'!"

The mayor's response is an amused chuckle which only works to widen the junker's satisfied grin. Junkrat could hardly believe it! _He was  actually buying the act!_

"Well, somethin' tells me you'd appreciate getting out of this heat—"  
He gestures to the sun beating down above, _as though Junkrat actually needed an explanation as to what he was talking about_.  
"—wouldn'tcha? I know I would." 

The junker nods rapidly in response, very _very_  open to the idea of escaping the ball of fire in the sky.

The mayor's kind smile remains painted upon his lips as the two of them head towards the entrance, pausing to open the door and ushering Junkrat inside, where he was, to his shock _(and vast relief)_ , straight away met with a blast of sweet, wonderful, cold air.  
An audible sigh of content escapes his lips, eyes momentarily slipping shut to further bask in the bliss of an air-conditioned room.

The mayor only chuckled at the junker's act, patiently waiting for the other to be done.

"I know the feelin', the southwest sun is nothing if not brutal, especially if yer' not used to it!"

Junkrat's eyes open once again, the blissful smile still trailing the corners of his lips as he nods in agreement, before following the mayor down the long corridor ahead.

* * *

The tour of Hill Valley is long and grudging, the town hall alone took more than an hour to get out of _(that part was majorly his fault, having dragged on that part of the tour just to stay inside it's climate controlled walls that much longer)_ , followed by a visit to all the shops in the town— _all of them_  —, then the residential areas including where he would be staying— _a quaint little shack on the outskirts of the other houses, clearly unused for years and almost in as bad shape as the town hall, but provided shelter from the blazing sun and in Junkrat's mind that was all that mattered_.

The big hand on the clock in Margaret's diner is pointing at one by the time they're finished, having returned to her restaurant for lunch _(the mayor's treat)_. The townsfolk seem to have grown used to his existence, not staring or gaping like they had been, _at least not as much as before anyways_.

"And how are ya likin' our here town thus far Mr. Smith?"

Margaret inquires, just as Junkrat is is finishing the last of his grilled cheese lunch. A gulp from the junker, downing the last of the cheesy goodness before flashing a toothy smile her way.

"S' real real nice! All's 'n very good conditin', ya take good care a' her!"

"Well we certainly try!"

Came the mayor's reply, as he and Margaret then shared a chuckle. Junkrat lets out a chuckle as well, albeit much quieter than those of his companions, really he's just thankful it's finally _over_.  
Standing up, the junker slides out of the booth he's seated in, gathering up his things and preparing to leave and _finally_  have some time on his own.

"Well, thank ya so much fo' th' tour, a' really 'njoyed it, n' a' think i'll b' headed to m' shack, get settld' in n' all that, eh?"

He's already stated towards the door, hoping to get out before either can say anything but Margaret _somehow_  beats him to it, standing in front of him and blocking his path before he can even _blink—_  
_Wait a minute **what??**_

His shock however is scattered into the wind by the mayor's interruption however.

"Now now wait a sec there, the tour ain't over _just_  yet!"

Junkrat's about 120% sure his will to continue living faded away with that sentence.

"Mhm! Ya ain't seen the best part yet!"

Chimes in Margaret, and Junkrat suddenly finds himself ten times more angered by their sickeningly-cheery dispositions than before, this facade of his is growing harder and harder to keep up...

"Th'... best part?"

Margaret flashes that arsenal of a smile again, and Junkrat tries to divert his eyes away as subtly as possible, before clasping her hands together excitedly.

"Oh yes! Mr. Goldie _always_  saves the best for last!"

"Indeed I do! Oh you'll love it!"

Cut in the mayor, and before Junrkat could respond in any way, he's already seized the junker's hand, half-leading half-dragging him out the door, away from the sweet AC and mouthwatering menu and back out into the blazing heat that would make Australia's climate lower it's head in shame.

After overcoming his initial surprise at the mayor's strength, Junkrat began wresting with the mayor's death grip, trying to get loose or at the very least _slow the man down_  a bit, his attempt proving unsuccessful however.

"W-wait a sec'—! Wh-wher' Th' hell r' we headed anyways?! N'— _slow down_  wouldja?!-"

Without stopping, the mayor glances back at the struggling junker, seemingly completely ignorant of the other's struggle, and Junkrat noted that his smile was _much_  wider than before.

"We're headed to the pride and joy of Hill Valley! You'll see when we get there!"

There was something about the way he said it that left Junkrat trailing in silence behind, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right about this...

* * *

The trek to Hill Valley's _'pride and joy'_ was thankfully not a long one, but it was absolutely a strange one.

For one, why was the path there completely _deserted_? Every other path, road, and walkable surface in the town was lined with rows of houses, shops, _something_  on either side, but this road was completely barren. Second, was it him or did the temperature inexplicably just drop at least 20 degrees?

The mayor was lost in his own little world, humming a tune Junkrat didn't recognize as he continued on, so asking him about any of this was out of the question. Great. Looks like all he could do was watch the cluster of buildings grow smaller behind him...

Eventually the road they were on came to an end at what could almost pass for a warehouse, if you ignored the purple and red checkerboard stripe horizontally cutting through the gray slate and the giant, decorated sign positioned above the door that is.  
"Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria" it read, the sickeningly-sweet bubble text surrounded by four cartoony animal mascots, all wearing smiles that were as sickeningly cheery as the mayor's. Huh.

Already the junker could tell that this was undoubtedly the best-maintained building in the entire town, not a shred of grime, mold, or disrepair anywhere on the exterior, and it actually didn't smell like it was rotting from the inside out. That alone was beyond absurd, what could possibly be so special about this place that it warranted more care than the town hall for god's sake??

Something tells him he wouldn't have to wait long to find out however, as it seemed the mayor decided that moment was the perfect time to once again grow aware of his companion's existence.

"A beauty ain't she? And this is just the exterior!"

"'S very, _shiny_...? Real nice n'deed but, m' sorry a' just ain' seein what's so special 'bout a restaurant?"

A chuckle from the mayor, who then turned to look directly at him, extra-wide _(and intimidating)_ smile still seated upon his lips.

"Ohh this isn't just _any_  restaurant Mr. Smith, there's a reason Freddy's is quite the tourist trap."

Yeah, a real tourist trap. There wasn't another living soul as far as Junkrat's eye could see! Hell, this place didn't even have a _parking lot_.

"Oh but don't take _my_  word for it—"  
 _He wasn't-  
_ "—C'mon I'll show ya!"

And once again Junkrat is ushered inside a building, but this time the blast of air-conditioning wasn't so satisfying. They step inside a dark hall, the mayor's heels clicking against the hard floor surface— _tile he believes_  —, the dim light doesn't reveal much aside from more gray walls with the same horizontal checkerboard stripe _(this time in black and white)_ , and a few sloppy crayon drawings along the walls that look to have been made by children. There's music playing in the distance, it's too muffled to properly make out but the general upbeat vibe it gives off kinda reminds him of something that brazilian dj played for the younger kids.

The two of them continue down the corridor in silence as they head towards the door at the end, the music growing louder the closer they get. Through the two circular windows on the door he can just barely make out a few big tables, and what he thinks is the beginning of... a stage? So what, a kids restaurant with live music? What was so special about—

And then they stepped through the doors and Junkrat's 1000% certain he felt his jaw disconnect from his face and fall to the floor.

It was definitely kid's music that he was hearing, having jumped up at least three notches in volume now that they were in the same room as it's source. Four long tables with bright, multicolored tablecloths were positioned in the center of the room, at each were seated about a dozen kids, all who's eyes were enthusiastically fixated on— _and here was the jawdropper_  —three towering _robotic animals_  matching the ones on the sign outside performing atop a stage.

To say Junkrat were rendered merely _speechless_  would be a shameful understatement.

He feels his flabbergasted gaze flicker from each of the robots, the first is a bear with light brown fur and rosy-red cheeks, the second is a radiantly bright blue rabbit clutching a red electric guitar, and the third was— _wait_ , what _was_  that- was— _was that a_ _**duck?!** _   ... _Okay_ , a giant yellow _duck_ with curves that didn’t belong on a device for the entertainment of children and a bib with the message _“let’s party!”_  printed on it. All are singing in time with each other, their mechanical voices ringing out in an unrecognizable tune with surprisingly _good_  pitch for the ears of the adoring children before them.

If he weren’t so dumbstruck righ now, Junkrat actually might’ve found himself rather impressed actually.

Still just barely able to comprehend what he’s _seeing_  right now, Junkrat doesn’t even register at first that the mayor has started talking again.

“What I tell ya, the pride and joy of Hill Valley! Really somethin’ aint they??”

Well, _that’s_  certainly a word for it.

Not trusting himself to say anything respectable, Junkrat opts to simply nod his head in agreement, gaze never breaking from the robots on stage. As honestly _incredible_  as they are, something about this entire situation just doesn’t sit right with Junkrat. For starters, sure he was hardly a stellar student back when children actually still went to school in Australia, but he’d payed enough attention to know that the kind of technology before him right now should not have _existed_  in the eighties. Watching them interact with the kids alone told him they we’re equipped with more than just a set program, a lower-level artificial intelligence at the very least, which, if he was remembering his information correctly, should not be possible in this time period.

But that wasn’t even it, something about the place simply just _didn’t sit right_  with him. There was some sort of...  _presence_  here, something cold and unwelcoming in the surrounding atmosphere, but for the life of him Junkrat could not place it.

He’s harshly torn from his thought process at the feeling of the mayor harshly tugging him along once again, and in the process slapping Junkrat in the face with the dawning realization that _there’s more to come_.

Along the far wall there’s a star-spangled purple curtain, which Junkrat had previously assumed to be a bizarre decor choice, but was now being slid open to reveal another room branching off from the main auditorium. Junkrat is quickly ushered inside, the mayor following on his heels, and the curtain is shut behind him once again. _Weird._

“Welcome to Kid’s Cove!”

This room, “Kid’s Cove” as it was apparently named, while still matching the overall color scheme as the auditorium, was clearly meant to radiate the feeling of a new land. Island and ocean decorations adorned the walls, with bright printed slogans such as “yar!” and “yo ho!” written in-between them. On the far wall hung a poster depicting a pink and white fox _(actually it might be a coyote)_  with the words _“let’s play!”_  written underneath. Hanging from the wall to his left was a backdrop resembling a wooden ship, with a toy steering wheel and a chest placed before it. Across the room sat another party table, this one unsurprisingly empty. There are _wires_ — _here’s hoping they weren't live_  —dangling down from the ceiling, displaying a rather severe lack of maintenance in here and informing him that this room probably wasn't used very often. Wonder why?  
And then he gets his answer when his eyes drift to the corner of the room because _oh sweet mother of all that is holy_ **_what the fuck is THAT?!?!_ **

Splayed in the right corner of the room is a disastrous miscellany of broken, mismatched, and jumbled robotic parts and pieces, jaggedly protruding from the remains of what he thinks _and prays_  is a robotic endoskeleton. Ruined electronic components can be vaguely identified all through the mess, tangled together with wires of all shapes and sizes _(some he could even swear are akin to the ones dangling above)_  in some horrifyingly desperate last resort to hold what remained of itself together. There’s a plastic face, bright and kid-friendly like the other _working_  models on-stage, but this head matches the one of the fox in the poster. _One of it’s eyes is missing._  But what’s even more unnerving— _because apparently all of_ **_that_ ** _wasn’t enough_  —was the _second robotic head_  extending from the jumble. The remainders of what he assumes were supposed to be it’s limbs stuck out from all parts of the disarray, in places that, assuming it had at one point been bipedal like the others, they wouldn’t— _and shouldn't_  —be able to.

It doesn't even occur to him to be surprised that his first real thought about that _thing_ — _aside from the newfound awareness that a proper night’s rest was now permanently a thing of the past_  —is _dear god someone_ **_please_ ** _put that thing out of it’s misery_.  
What on _earth_  would've _done_  something like this??

As if to once again have read his mind, Mr. Goldie lets out a solemn sigh, averting his gaze to the floor while doing so, as though remembering some dreadful accident, even going as far to place his hand over his heart. Frankly, Junkrat wouldn’t be surprised if that were truly the case.

“Truly a tragic thing to have happened, Toy Foxy was greatly adored by all the kids who came here once upon a time. Unfortunately, children just don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves these days! The staff had to repair Toy Foxy after every shift! Eventually they just, gave up.”

...Ok, that’s bullshit if he’s ever heard it.

No. Absolutely not. There is absolutely _no possible way_  that a bunch of _children_  could have done **_this_ ** .  _Little kids_  are not capable of a catastrophe like _this_ . _Children_  are not capable of destroying what he already _knows_  to be highly-advanced machinery so ridiculously beyond the point of repair. And what’s more, what parent in their right mind would let their child within _10 feet_ of this thing, let alone close enough to actually do damage?? Junkrat sure as hell wouldn’t let a child near it, hell he wouldn’t let _anyone_  near it if he could help it!

No, this was purposeful.  This was done with the specific intent of _destroying_  the animatronic far beyond the point of help and then rearranging it into this _trainwreck_  of a robot that could put any arachnid to shame. That alone was more than enough reason to be incredibly suspicious of this place, couple it with his first two reason and Junkrat was just about ready to give up every penny he had, earned or stolen, in exchange for never having to set foot in this place ever again.

Unfortunately, his money was worthless in the 80’s.

“Well, no use cryin’ over spilled milk right? C’mon there’s more to see!”

And before he can begin to process the abrupt resurrection of mayor’s sunny attitude, Junkrat hand is sized _again,_  and he’s half-led half-dragged out the curtain and back into the main auditorium and down another hallway lined with doors and kids drawings flying by too fast for Junkrat to properly examine, the mayor only slowing down enough for him to make out the plaque on the door at the end of the hall— _parts and services_  —, right before being pulled along down _another hallway_  and _finally_  coming to a stop after turning into another door-less room.

“And this is the Prize Corner!”

This room was smaller than Kid’s Cove, or maybe it just felt that way with everything in it. Counters and cabinets filled with toys, games, stuffed animals, and all sorts of imaginable trinkets lined the left wall, another set of counters with a glass cabinet— _also filled with toys_  —sat right in front of the first set of counters, taking up most of the space in the room. In the far right corner sat a box decorated like a birthday present, painted a light _(though a bit faded)_  blue with a purple stripe down the middle, meant to resemble a ribbon.

“That box is where The Puppet lives. Gives gifts to the good children.” Once again the mayor had answered Junkrat’s questions before he asked them, _how the hell did he keep doing that??_

Soon enough he was tugged out into the hallway again, this time being led to the end of it where another room with no door sat _(jeez what’s with this place and it’s lack of doors??)_. This room seemed to be a back office of sorts, and actually looked like it should have a door, with file cabinets along the back wall and a large desk in the middle holding a drink cup, a desk fan, and a few towering stacks of paper. In the corners near the entryway sat stacks of tv monitors, probably broken or no longer usable, and sitting at the desk was a distracted man, who’s nose was buried so deep in his paperwork he hadn’t even noticed the two of them come in.

“ _Ahem._ ”

The man’s head abruptly shoots up at that, unceremoniously jerking out of his chair and in the process scattering some of his papers. A mumbled curse, followed by the man quickly bending down and fumbling to gather his fallen work, tossing up a sheepish smile every-so-often until he was finished. _Yeesh._  When’s the last time this man slept? Poor guy almost looked worse than _he_  did!

“M-Mr. Mayor! Al-lways a p-pleasure, y-you’ll have to ex-xcuse the mmess I... I’m not e-exactly on top of things r-right now...”

“Ah that’s just fine, no one’s ever really on top of it all!”

A rich chuckle resonates from the mayor, which is joined by the other man’s nervous and uncertain one.

“Now, I’d like ya to meet someone. This is Mr. Oswell Spencer, the owner of this establishment. Mr. Oswell,—”  
He gestures towards Junkrat.  
“—Mr. Fritz Smith. Arrived in town this morning.”

Mr. Oswell seizes Junkrat’s for the umpteenth time that day and shakes it over-enthusiastically in his own, the man’s tired smile overflowing with forced happiness and quite literally making Junkrat sick.

“O-Oh it’s t-truly a pleasure M-Mr. Smith, w-wonderful to m-m-eet you.!”

“Lik’wise...”

It finally occurs to Mr. Oswell to release his hand, and Junkrat abruptly claims it back, wiping off the sweat from the other’s palm on his pants.

“Anyways, as I said Mr. Oswell, Mr.Smith arrived in our little home early this mornin’, having been forced to walk here after getting _robbed_  of all things! Poor fellow don’t have anything but the clothes on his back. So being the _hospitable_  mayor I try to be, I figured we’d set him up in the Baker’s old house for now, and get him a job so he’d at least have some money to get back on his feet—”  
 _Junkrat wasn’t liking where this was headed.  
_ “—An’ I remembered, hey! I think Oswell’s hiring! So I was hoping you’d maybe be able to help our friend here, Mr. Oswell?

Aaaand _there it was_ .  
Well, shit. So much for never having to set foot in this place again. Just his luck he’d end up having to _work_  in the one place he’d actually trade all his money for just to ensure never having to go back. Fan-fuckin’- _tastic_ .  
Any hope that Oswell wouldn’t want him working there died immediately upon seeing the man’s expression, which also happened to be the first instance Junkrat saw an emotion other than unbelievable exhaustion overcome his features. The man’s eyes actually managed to light up at the prospect of having help, and his smile contained genuine excitement now.

“O-Oh I’d _love_  for him to work here! Could always u-use more help aand all!”

_Of course._  The junker suppresses a groan, both from the now-certain knowledge he’d have to work in this place, but also how _predictable_  the little man was. _God what he wouldn't do for some boba tea right about now—_  
But hey, he supposed it could be worse, right?

“H-He can work the night shift!!”

_Never mind._

“Well then, I’d say that about settles it! Wadya say Mr. Smith? Ready to work the night shift?”

No. No, absolutely no. He’d rather work _anything_  but the night shift. Fuck the night shift couldn’t he get the day shift? Or a job at literally any other place in the town? He was absolutely _not_  ready to work the night shift thank you very much. However, as much as he’d love to say all of that right about now, Junkrat simply forces a smile.

“Re’dy as ‘ll evr’ b’.”

The mayor grins at the response, and Oswell’s smile doubles in size, if that’s even possible, clapping his hands excitedly together, almost like a child would.

“O-Oh that’s- that’s f-fantastic!! S-So glad t-to have you o-o-on-b-board!”

Seeing their enthusiasm, although entirely alien to Junkrat, does help him fake a smile of his own. And hey, all things considered really, he got off pretty easy. It’s the _night shift_  after all, just check a few cameras every so often, make sure no one breaks in. Sure, the atmosphere was unsettling, but how hard could it really be?

“You start tonight!”

Wait **_what??_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know the canon FNaF2 restaurant layout is different don't look at me like that. Next time: Junkrat's first night on the job.


End file.
